Vignette of a Sylvan Reverie
by artypendragon
Summary: Three drabbles in which Arthur sheds his princely exterior and deserts his princely home to follow his true calling in life (to laze about in the countryside, acting like a fishwife) and Merlin does all the chores regardless of where he actually lives.


**I.** _Sometimes I dream of leaving Camelot._

"Father found us," is Arthur's wake-up call for Merlin. Merlin stirs awake.

"Didn't you plant evidence we were going to Nor _thum_ bria," he groans by way of greeting. "We're over five hundred leagues away from Camelot! How'd he find you?"

"How'd he find _us_ ," Arthur says, glowering. "Theodore down at the greengrocer's said he sent scouts all the way here to look for us. I knew you'd be our downfall."

Merlin scrambles to his feet and huffs in indignation. "You're the one who answered with your full name like an idiot when Teddy—nobody calls him Theodore, stop looking at me like that—when Teddy's wife asked."

"I just wanted proof I wasn't recognised here," Arthur responds, head turned toward the open doorway. It's a beautiful morning, and Merlin knows the wistfulness with which he's staring at the sky, as if hoping that when he looks back down he'll have all his knights clamouring to drill with him outside their little hut-like farmhouse. Arthur's sword lies unused these days (Arthur still makes him polish it religiously. Merlin doesn't know why he does Arthur's bidding, it isn't like he's Arthur's servant here. But he is, he always will be).

"When are they coming?" Merlin whispers. He can see Arthur's longing, torn between this hut, the tiny fields they grow wheat on, and the responsibility that awaits him at his first home.

"Two weeks' time."

"What are we going to do?"

Arthur throws him a wry glance, and shrugs. "It was good while it lasted, wasn't it?"

Merlin doesn't want to go back, not really. Not even if he has to do all the work here while Arthur pretends to know the ins and outs of bucolic life. But he nods and grins at Arthur, both making a silent promise not to run further away from their fate.

* * *

 **II.** _I don't know. Somewhere where nobody knew who I was. I'd get some land and become a farmer._

It's absolutely _pouring_ outside. Merlin neglected to bring in the washing earlier this evening, despite Arthur's pointed reminders, and now Arthur's silent glare is a tangible pinprick on the back of his head.

"Look, I was busy sowing in the fields and forgot!" he bursts out a minute later, tending to the miserable embers in their tiny, closed-up fireplace (can't have a fire going right now, can they, not if they want to live in a smoke-free hut and live). "You could've gone and got it all instead of going 'Oh, _Mer_ lin, don't forget to fetch the _laundry_ ,' every half-hour to amuse yourself."

"I was exhausted and couldn't move for my back killing me, _Mer_ lin," Arthur snaps back, every bit the fishwife he'd promised he wouldn't become. "I was the one who did the washing today, after all, wasn't I?"

"Oh, you got your pretty princely hands dirty for once, good on you. It was just today, wasn't it? I'm the one who does all the chores every day while you lounge about in the sun!" Merlin retorts. "Imagine how it's been for me as your manservant all these years."

Arthur rolls his eyes and brings over a pot of... something to the hearth. Merlin eyes it dubiously. "You _cooked_? Is this revenge? Are you going to poison me for leaving our clothes to soak in the rain?"

"No! I did cook dinner for us because, like you said, you were busy sowing in the fields," Arthur says grudgingly. "I used up the last few vegetables we had for this stew. I'll go hunting and bring back some rabbits and pheasants tomorrow. Mind going into the market for the veg?"

"Yeah, no real hardship for me," Merlin mutters, watching with narrowed eyes as Arthur settles the pot on the embers to try and warm the stew up. There's a crack of thunder outside and both of them start at the noise.

Merlin potters over to the candles to keep them safe from the gusts of wind whistling through the slats in their sole window. The candles are the only luxury Arthur had him smuggle from Camelot, since they smell like his old bedroom and Arthur's a sentimental fool despite his claims to the contrary.

"Oh, Arthur, look," Merlin says, peering out the window. "Your smallclothes just flew off the line."

Arthur yells in outrage and dashes out of the hut, and Merlin aches both with peals of laughter as well as the dear wish to stay in this moment forever.

* * *

 **III.** _Obviously I'd take Merlin with me, he can do all the hard work._

Arthur pulls away from Merlin's eager hands. "You're a clingy one," he murmurs, tugging Merlin closer and kissing him again. "Lord knows why you didn't try any of this with me back in Camelot."

Merlin hooks his arms comfortably around Arthur's neck and concentrates on sucking face instead of replying with a fond insult. The rain stopped banging against the walls of their farmhouse a while ago (good for the drowning seeds, Merlin thought), so Arthur decided to be generous and opened up the fireplace properly, even getting a roaring blaze going in the cold. It was that tiny little gesture (more so the stupid pride on Arthur's face) that melted Merlin's heart, though he told Arthur it was the fire as he clambered into Arthur's welcoming lap.

"Clingy," Arthur repeats. He smiles against Merlin's lips. "Your hair's so soft, Merlin."

Merlin knows. There isn't a single day that goes by in which Arthur doesn't try and run a hand through it, open and unabashed, not a whit the prince Merlin served.

"Love you," he says, kissing the words into the curve of Arthur's smile. His neckerchief adorns Arthur's neck these days, and he grapples with the knot as Arthur thumbs at his chin to part his mouth and— _oh_.

"As do I," Arthur answers.

They lose themselves in the affectionate, noisy smacks of their kisses for long minutes, Merlin finally having got the neckerchief undone, clutching it between their chests, like it's a link to Arthur instead of him, as Arthur cradles Merlin and worships his mouth like a husband devoted.

"Will—" Merlin begins, taking a deep breath to steady himself. Arthur can't hold back the crinkling at the corners of his eyes at that. "Will we change when Uther drags us back?"

"Only if you want us to," Arthur says, gentle and reassuring.

Merlin nuzzles him; at least until Arthur continues, "But I am _done_ with this tiresome menial work, so don't expect me to let up on you for all your manservant duties, yeah?" and Merlin's forced to deck him on (loving) principle.


End file.
